


Battle Artist

by marshmell0w



Category: Terraria
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Gen, Monsters, based on actual events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 16:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12536544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmell0w/pseuds/marshmell0w
Summary: The Painter was planning his next piece when the night sky was suddenly bathed in crimson...





	Battle Artist

Inspiration was a fickle thing; sometimes it would cascade freely within the Painter’s mind and he’d have plenty to paint, or draw, or sometimes even sculpt whenever the Hero brought back mounds of clay. Other times however, the Painter would have to simply sit in a chair, tapping either his finger or the wooden tip of his paintbrush against his chin in thought. On occasion he could draw inspiration by walking outside and sketching what he saw, but lately the Hero had forbade him to go further than the edge of the leaves on the tree. He certainly didn't appreciate his creativity being stifled like that but in the same token he understood _why_ it had to be that way. Two things were certain in the world of Terraria: being armed and protected at all times was advisable-- and everything could kill you if you weren't. Compared to the Hero, the Painter himself was... vulnerable.

Regardless, he hated not to be painting on this gorgeous star-lit night but there was little he could do except hope for something to come along and give him that spark to kick-start his creativity. Unfortunately he wasn’t exactly in a position to ask the other folk living here what they thought either. The room he had moved into when he first arrived was, in the words of the Hero, “ill fitted” for him. Not only was it on the surface and therefore isolated from those living closer to the massive tree’s roots, but it was built directly from the living wood of the tree, and even had an odd loom that could craft furniture made of this organic wood.

Still, the Painter didn’t openly complain about the loom or the fact that there were bugs almost always crawling in his room. He got fresh air and sunlight when it was daytime and could, as he now stood in the doorway, view the nighttime sky. He was about to go back inside though and simply tuck into bed when he saw the sky suddenly become tinted in a sickly red color. It unnerved him enough for him to close the door, stepping back but still relatively close to the east entrance.

“What a horrid color…” the Painter said softly, stepping back again and placing his right hand on the table in the room. “It does not easily open the mind to the wonders of--” His musings were interrupted by the Hero frantically rising from the hollowed-out center of the large tree, fully armored in platinum and their gleaming hammer drawn. All the Painter could see of their face was their eyes, dilated with what seemed to be abject fear. What had the Hero so afraid?

“You didn’t open either door or step outside… good.” they addressed the Painter, sounding out of breath. But the Painter started to recognize it was their way of psyching up for a fight, though he wasn’t sure of what for until he heard it too. The distant moans and shuffling of monsters and zombies, growing closer. He had to wonder if the Hero had some innate sense of danger and shivered lightly. Did that mean he was in the danger crossfire? _An ill-fitted room…_ the Painter was starting to see why now. He watched as the Hero paced around for a moment, as if making a split-second decision. "...Can you fight?" their voice sounded hoarse. "There's too many approaching on both sides for us to simply brace the doors. And I fear--"

A loud thud interrupted the Hero, and immediately they turned to the west entrance, which was closer to the hollowed section of the tree and led more directly to the main cluster of rooms. Shuffling in was a groaning abomination that seemed to drip blood-- it ambled towards the two of them and without hesitation the Hero sprinted forward and bashed it and the one behind it into bloody splatters upon the floor and walls. _That is a powerful hammer!_ The Painter thought with some measure of glee before he was startled by the door closest to him opening. Three zombies poured in, their gait only slightly slower than the blood monster's had been. The Painter had been frozen since earlier but with his life in danger and the Hero occupied with the ever-spawning blood monsters he made a split-second decision to shoot the foul undead with his high-velocity paintball gun. The goblin Tinkerer had helped craft it, using an empty gun frame that the Arms Dealer had lying around. Now... was the time to test it.


End file.
